


down in the boneyard (ten feet deep)

by gaymothman



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Found Family, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 15:21:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16956504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaymothman/pseuds/gaymothman
Summary: dear whoever-you-are,don’t freak out, you’re safe and you haven’t been kidnapped or anythingwe found you outside in the mud and we brought you inthere’s clothes that’ll hopefully fit in the dresser, or stay in your pajamas, whatever tickles your pickle.come down when you’re feeling ready, you can eat whatever’s in the pantry or someone will make you somethingsincerely,magnus burnsides, esquire





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> as always, thank you very dearly to mdmdmdam for helping me turn this from a really confusing pile of scribbles into something readable.  
> title is from We Have Always Lived in the Castle by Shirley Jackson.

An old leather suitcase.

It smells like the past- dried leaves and memories.

If you pick through it, there’s much to look at.

Acorns.

A gold button.

A few paperback novels.

Letters, curled at the edges, with the ink nearly faded away.

Everything seems to be stained with something dark that spilled a long, long time ago.

Lining the bottom, a few layers deep, are photographs.

Someone’s fingers, long nails painted electric blue.

A pile of books, stacked improbably, some end-over-end, others large on top of small.

A campfire.

Mostly, they’re of people.

A broad-shouldered, barrel-chested boy with curly hair and tawny eyes and a gap between his front teeth.

A short, serious-looking kid with a barely-grown-out crew cut and dark shadows under his eyes.

A boy with freckles and an easy smile and loud-patterned shirts.

Another boy, taller, with glasses and a consistently worried expression.

Two kids, delicate and bruised. Matching faces that look like trouble and hair whose colours seem to be the only visible difference between them.

A girl, white hair stark against dark skin. Tall and frowning, often clutching a book to her chest.

In one picture, Bookish Girl is sitting up on Tawny Boy’s shoulders. Her head is thrown back in laughter.

In another, the Twins are pulling faces at the camera, sitting up in a tree.

Another one shows the Freckled Boy, his arm slung around someone else’s shoulder. It’s hard to make out who it is- their face seems to have been scratched out. Or maybe there’s just a shadow cast over it.

Bookish Girl and Glasses, asleep under a tree.

Crew Cut and Freckles, kissing, as Crew Cut holds a book out in front of them in a futile attempt to hide from view.

Finally, folded over and over at the bottom of the suitcase, is a cut-out from a news article. Someone’s been drawing on it- there’s a half done hang-man game in the corner.

A small, grainy photo of Bookish Girl in the corner of the page has been covered with hearts and flowers.

“STILL NO SIGN OF SEVENTH MISSING TEENAGER.” The headline proclaims, Under it, in cheap ink that’s nearly rubbed off, is part of a story.

“There is still no trace of fourteen-year-old Lucretia Delac, who disappeared last week on October 8th. Members of the armed forces have been combing dense brush around Glass Lake, about 6 miles east of Faerun county. There is still no sign that Delac is, or ever was, in the area.

Delac is only the latest in a string of teenage disappearances in Faerun county, following those of Sildar “Barry” Hallwinter (16), on July 3rd,  _**~~///~~**_  and Taako Yuno (16) on April 24th, Magnus Burnsides (15) on January 2nd, Merle Highchurch (17) on December 19th, and Andrew Davenport (17) on September 20th."

If there's anything more to the article, it's been covered in more splotches and drawings.  


Almost as if someone were trying to hide it.


	2. mist, mud, sleep, and porridge

Lucretia isn’t quite sure when her shoes came off.

She can’t see them- it’s too dark, the fog is too thick,  and she’s halfway up her calves in mud, but her bare feet sink down as she walks.

The sound makes her ill- an oozy, squeaky, squelch that she feels as much as she hears it. She has to keep going, though.

She has to.

Her head feels empty- there’s nothing in it other than the will to push forwards. No memories. Her name, at least.

Her name is Lucretia Delac, she has no shoes on, and she has to keep going.

Time passes, or maybe it doesn’t, really.

Lucretia feels certain that she hasn’t been walking for more than fifteen minutes, but her legs ache and her teeth chatter like it’s been hours.

Eventually, the prospect of lying down and letting the mud form a blanket around her starts to become appealing.

She falls to her knees and laughs.

She’s really, truly, fucked.

She’s queen of this mess.

She’s wearing a cape and a crown, and this is her feather bed.

No- that’s not what it is.

She’s  _ sinking _ .

  


She scrabbles for purchase on something,  _ anything _ , but her hands only close around more mud as she falls deeper.

First, to her hips, then to her waist, then, to her shoulders.

There’s no way that it was this deep before. It’s like the ground opened up just to swallow her.

She tries to scream but only succeeds in catching a mouthful of the stuff.

_ I’m going to die out here. With no shoes, no memory, and a mouth filled with black, rotting, foul mud _ .

Weakly, she stretches a hand out, and feels her fingers break through.

When someone grabs onto them, she goes limp in shock, and lets the darkness take her.

  


“Magnus!”

_ Wool blankets and soft sheets _

_ Night sky _

_ The murky bottom of a warm lake _

_ “ _ Fisher, don’t strain your back, I’ve got her, I’ve got her-“

_ Floating _

_ The creaking of old floorboards _

“Holy shit, Mags-”

“-freezing, you guys!”

“Merle, can you get some more wood f-”

“-put some soup on the stove-”

“-new bedroom opened up for-”

-

Lucretia wakes up in bed.

She feels warm and comfortable, more than she has in a long time, and she isn’t quite sure how she knows that.  The lack of memory in her head doesn’t alarm her as much as it probably should.

Sitting up carefully, she takes stock of the room.  A big bed, covered in layers and layers of quilts and comforters and pillows.  A windowseat with an overstuffed cushion.  A dresser and bookshelf, made out of the same dark wood. The bookshelf looks full.

Lucretia’s bare feet hit the cold floor, and she shivers. It’s awkward moving, like she’s been asleep for a while.

“Hello?” She calls out, but receives no response.

With shaking hands, she moves towards the dresser, where a crane, folded out of patterned green paper, is waiting for her.

”OPEN ME” is scrawled in red ink on one wing.

Carefully, and a little reluctantly, Lucretia unfolds the paper and reads the chicken scratch that someone has left there.

  


_ dear whoever-you-are, _

_ don’t freak out, you’re safe and you haven’t been kidnapped or anything _

_ we found you outside in the mud and we brought you in _

_ there’s clothes that’ll hopefully fit in the dresser, or stay in your pajamas, whatever tickles your pickle. _

_ come down when you’re feeling ready, you can eat whatever’s in the pantry or someone will make you something _

_ sincerely, _

_ magnus burnsides, esquire _

  


The note, the creased green paper, and the red ink that’s already staining her fingers, serve as an unwelcome jolt of reality. Fear swells in Lucretia’s chest.  She’s somewhere she’s never been before, with nothing she can remember beyond mud, wearing  _ someone else’s pajamas _ , and-

  


“Hello?” A polite, gravelly voice calls out from behind the door.

“..Hi.”

“Oh, good! You’re- you’re awake, then? Are you feeling alright?”

“..Yes.”

“Cool. Do you think you could open up? This bowl is really hot and, uh- I’d like to.. put it down if possible?”

  


Slowly, cautiously, Lucretia opens the door.

A boy is standing there. He doesn’t look too much older than Lucretia, with coke bottle glasses and curly brown hair. He’s currently making a face like he’s doing his very best not to cry out in pain.  


_Right_.

Lucretia takes the bowl.

Gratefully, the boy lets out a heavy sigh as he clutches his palm. “Holy  _ fuck _ .”

“It smells good.” Lucretia offers, as consolation. She’s not lying- the bowl of porridge is fragrant, speckled with cinnamon and studded with raisins.

“Mhm. Taako just made it. Count yourself lucky. It’s usually hard to get him up before lunch time.”

“..Taako?”

“He’s one of the others, who lives here with us.”

“Us?” Lucretia feels like a broken record, only repeating back what she’s heard. None of this makes sense.

“Me. You. Rest of us, and Mister Fisher, too.”

“I- I don’t live here.”

“You do now.”

“According to  _ who _ ?”

The boy shrugs. “You don’t remember anything?”

“Just mud. I fell in, and someone pulled me out. Nothing before that.”

“It was the same way with all of us. Mud, getting out, waking up here.”

“Where is here?”

The boy frowns, scratches the back of his neck. “That’s a long story, Miss- what’s your name?”

“Lucretia. I’m Lucretia.”

“Alright, Lucretia.” He extends a hand and Lucretia takes it, cautiously. It's still hot from the bowl. 

“I’m Barry. Welcome to the Conservatory. You’re safe here. But you should make yourself at home- you’re probably not leaving any time soon.”


End file.
